


Marriage.png

by malaxis



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Introspection, M/M, Oneshot, Soul Sex, sansby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8725420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malaxis/pseuds/malaxis
Summary: Grillby and Sans have an adult conversation on a comfortable couch. The couch then gets used for other things.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Two Grooms Walk In](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8477488) by [perniciousLizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perniciousLizard/pseuds/perniciousLizard). 



> This was actually inspired by the whole series, Fired Up and Bone Weary, but...you know how this site is.
> 
> And we're back! As you may know, I cracked and made this account a few months ago to get email updates for fics, and here I am, posting my own. Yes, I exist on FFNet. No, I'm not sure if I'm gonna port those over yet.
> 
> The idea for this kind of stuck in my head, and I used it as a chance to explore my feelings about my own life as well. Some of this is taken directly from my experiences, and so even though this could fit loosely into perniciousLizard's universe, you will notice that the characterization is not quite on the nose for them.
> 
> If you haven't read it and love slow burn, I highly recommend you read her series.

It's Serious Conversation Time. Sans can tell by Grillby's signs. He walked into the living room and stopped at the door, then sighed. He stood there for about a minute before coming fully into the room, at which point he sat straight-backed on the couch, not relaxing into it like he usually does when he joins Sans in the living room. Also his leg is a full 8 inches away from Sans' own, instead of crushed against it.

He keeps his eyes on the TV screen. It'll take another minute or two for Grillby to work up the courage to say what he wants to say. Doesn't seem like awful news. If they were getting a divorce, Grillby would probably be smaller and less warm, but even as it is some of his flames are reaching out in Sans' direction. He's burning low, but hot. Actually, Grillby's got a bit of electricity about him. He's nervous...and maybe a little excited?

Mettaton's onscreen, droning out a monologue from some old human play while disaster happens in the background. It's one of Sans' favorite segments. His attention follows an impossible explosion while Mettaton continues on, blatantly unaware.

“........I want to build a house,” Grillby says, also staring at the screen. Or past it, who really knows. His conversation starter would have been sudden if Sans wasn't already expecting it.

“ok.”

Grillby knows Sans. He already knows that Sans is not sold on this idea, and Sans knows that he knows, of course. A few years ago and he would've gone with anything, but he's managed to almost completely give up on giving up, so his small, curt “ok”s nowadays are now a voice of disagreement. So Grillby continues.

“...I have been looking at land, small plots outside the city. I still hold that I made the right choice, but it does get _tiring_ after all this time, being around so many humans. I thought we'd settle somewhere quieter for our downtime. I don't want to take us more than half an hour out, so that commuting wouldn't be difficult. Sans...you know how much I love to cook, but you also know I'm getting old. I can't work as fast as I used to. Building a house...well, I'd still be creating something, on my own time, that will still be standing after we've all gone. I want to share that with you. And Papyrus of course, if he still wants to live with us.”

“ok." 

“It will be...expensive, but we are not......hurting for money. All the rent from the apartment over the flagship—” That's what he calls the second restaurant, the first one on the surface. “—has been going directly into savings, and I thought I'd perhaps rent this house out, too, when the new one is finished, to tackle the debt on it. You wouldn't have to help build it, although you could if you wanted to. I haven't...completely worked out the design yet, either. I thought if you wanted to help out with anything, it would be that.” 

Sans zones out on the TV, looking past it while he contemplates Grillby's idea. Grillby clasps his hands together, wrings them into a flaming mass before his fingers pull like taffy into their substantial state again. Grillby _would_ love that, building a house. With his restaurants doing well, so well in fact that they could run without him (and they do), he's been left with a lot more free time. Sans loves this, but he knows Grillby's not like him; he loves to work. Designing a house and creating it...and taking care of mountains of human paperwork, it might take a couple years...and if Grillby doesn't work as hard on this as he did running the first restaurant in the underground, then it might take a _few_ years...plenty of time for him to take on this new hobby and maybe continue it until he's just a small, old crotchety monster whittling wood on a rocking chair on his porch. Sans is amused by that mental image.

Grillby's getting up in age, of course, but he'll still easily outlive Sans. He lives for hard work, and that'll be true even when he's old and the coal streaks at his temples cover his entire head. A new hobby and a new learning curve...so predictable of Grillby. But it's sweet, that he wants to build a home for his family.

He's right about the money, too. And the humans. It's been years and they still get dirty looks. Frisk tells him it's less about them being monsters and more about them both being _male_ monsters. What is wrong with humans? Frisk still gets misgendered, too. As if there's only one right way to exist. It'd be nice to not be bothered. Sometimes it's exhausting mingling with humans. Hmm.

“ok.” A _real_ ok. Grillby can tell the difference.

“Really?”

“ 'course. you're so excited, how could i say no? plus, it'll get you out of the house.”

“I thought I'd have to convince you more than this. I had a PowerPoint.”

“aw, sorry, Grillbz. woulda loved to have seen that.”

“I could still...”

“no, no, it's ok.”

Grillby chuckles. Sans loves his chuckle. It sounds like someone distantly lit a box of bang snaps on fire. “Thank you for your support, Sans.”

“i'm always gonna support you. unless it's murder, and even then, if it was a good enough reason... well. i support you anyway. you know that.”

Grillby goes contemplatively quiet, puts a hand to Sans' jaw. “I love you.....dearly.”

Aw. Sans returns Grillby's soft gaze, pressing into his husband's hand. He mostly reserves this look for the times Grillby makes a pun, but sometimes it makes an appearance anyway. “same.”

Grillby lets out another soft laugh and moves so that he's kneeling on the ground, body between Sans' legs, leaning into Sans so that he's solidly against the couch. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Sans' cheekbone. Sans returns the sentiment, lightly knocking his forehead against Grillby's, and then tilting his head up so that his teeth land against Grillby's mouth. Grillby immediately reciprocates the kiss, and lets it linger for a few moments.

Sans' lids fall closed, hands coming up to rest on Grillby's flanks. He's still in his work shirt, but the bowtie, sleeve garters, and vest are gone, top two buttons of the shirt undone. It's the home-from-work look...one of Sans' favorites. And in his favorite place to be, too. Pressed to the cushiest couch corner, Grillby against him, warmth surrounding him...there's nothing better. He hums in satisfaction and his jaw clicks open, arms sliding around to pull Grillby closer to him.

Not that their sexual acts are anything like the way humans do it, but Sans isn't the type to frequently engage in that kind of activity anyway. This is partially due to the fact that he's a skeleton, and partially because he's just plain disinterested 90% of the time. But sometimes, when every puzzle piece is pressed perfectly into place, he'll open up and let the experience take him. Grillby is probably the most adept at reading him, and can tell immediately when Sans is in that kind of mood...like right now. He's a much more sensual monster than Sans, but there's always been an understanding between them that sex may never be a part of their relationship. Boy, was he surprised the first time Sans rolled on top of him...wide awake. He doesn't get surprised anymore, just pleased.

Grillby's flames lick their way into Sans' open mouth, hot against his maxilla and palatine bones. The natural moisture of his interior bones reacts to the flames, and small whorls of smoke seep out from his mouth, nasal cavities, and under his eyelids. He grins in contentment; he likes the sting of it...and Grillby just generally finds it sexy. Grillby's arms, already starting to loosen from the careful form he keeps his entire body in, wind around Sans' ribcage, pulling him close enough that there's not a centimeter between them.

Sans presses more solidly against him, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. Back in the day, he never considered dating an option. Marriage? A pipe dream he never even had. All of this, with a fire elemental? The Sans of the past would've called bullshit. But here he is, married, happy, kissing, hot but not on fire...Grillby likes that part. He doesn't have to keep himself so carefully contained around Sans, and he likes to take advantage of that, sometimes. Even when they met and Sans' HP was at 1, Grillby's never had to be as careful around him as he's had to with others. He's told Sans before, that it's a relief that their infrequent sexual intimacy is rooted in Sans' low sex drive, and not fear of getting burned. He's gotten burned emotionally, harder than any exes have gotten burned physically. It's a sore subject for Grillby, actually, but he also says that things have a way of working out. Sans is glad to find truth in those words, and glad that he found this gorgeous monster before him...and that they're compatible and Grillby respects his space and daily energy levels and that they can kiss without anyone getting hurt.

He slides his hands forward again, gentle and firm against Grillby's sides until he's got them trapped between their chests, phalanges wriggling up until they've reached the third button on Grillby's shirt, the first of them that's still done up. He'll fix that soon enough... soon...... _enough_........

Ok, he may be quick and graceful in a fight, but he's got no coordination when it comes to fine motor skills. The small buttons slip away from his distals...again...and again, and though he's enjoying kissing Grillby, he's getting frustrated and really needs to see what he's doing. He pushes Grillby away in order to see his task, and Grillby's got something like a grin on his face, that is, until he leans in and starts kissing at Sans' cervical vertebrae, and if _that_ isn't the worst distraction he's ever had. He stares hard at his task, determined not to let himself give in to the sensations until he's completed it. He gets the first button. Yes. Finally. Grillby's hands are drifting up his spine now. Second button. Easier than the first. Grillby's hands have found Sans' front again, slipping up under his knitted sweater to touch the edges of his pelvis. His body responds naturally, moving into the touch. Third button's undone, yes, then the fourth, then he's done, and he slides his hands between the fabric and Grillby's torso so fast that it's almost like he would have died without the warmth.

Grillby growls in his ear canal, dry and so, _so_ hot. His flames have grown by a good 25 percent, making him look huge and hulking. Sans' body _jolts_ with pleasure at the sight. His outer flames, normally a nice deep orange, are making their way to yellow, visible tendrils of smoke coming off of him at the tips of the highest ones. His body's looking less like a contained shape and more like a wildfire, arms blending into torso and fingers no longer discernible. Sans can still tell where his face is, only by the glasses still attached but askew, and the hot blue flame of his cheeks...oh, and just a bit of blue on his neck and chest, as well. Grillby's getting real _heated_ , and it might even be a better look on him than sweats and a tank top. Sans still hasn't decided, because he sort of likes Grillby in all states. Currently: a state of undress.

Hell, Sans'll do it for him, even. He's got the energy. It kind of builds on itself when he gets like this. And it's always worth the crash later. He lets his hands slide up Grillby's flanks and chest, up to his shoulders, where he slides his little bones between fabric and flame, lets the shirt catch on the ridges of his phalanges, and sweeps them down Grillby's arms, shirt falling away as soon as it gets to the right angle. Grillby helps it along, pushing back his shoulders to make a path for the shirt, and tossing it onto the ground. He reattaches his face to Sans', who replaces his hands at Grillby's waist, finger bones gripping his sides tightly.

There's a fire at his ribs, and before he knows it, his sweater is being lifted over his head and tossed aside as well. Toriel made it for him a few years ago, turtleneck big and cozy, to make sure, in her words, that he “stays warm _necks_ winter.” But he's not in that moment. He's in this one, with his husband. He whines when Grillby's fingers, just contained enough to still feel like fingers, slip into the intercostal spaces between his ribs and _grip_ his bones, _hard_. Most of Grillby's face is blue at this point, as well as the caps of his shoulders and a good 50% of his chest. He pulls Grillby close again, their torsos pressing together even with Grillby's hands and forearms between them, souls resonating just enough that they can feel each other. The flames of Grillby's fingers crawl deeper into his thoracic cage, and Sans really feels like he's being overstimulated now, but he doesn't want it to stop. The moans that come out on the tail-end of his exhales only make Grillby burn brighter and hotter, maw opening like a chasm, magma flames dripping from the top of his mouth to the bottom and onto Sans' sternum, where they burn for a few seconds each before extinguishing. He's a terrifying sight to behold, powerful and enormous. He growls like a furnace, the inside of his mouth white-hot and blinding.

And he's still so gentle with Sans, a solid presence but a loving one nonetheless, even when he no longer has the restraint to keep his shape contained. His soul is pulsating in a rhythm close to Sans', a little deeper, a little slower, and Sans' own soul makes up the difference, the quick, stuttering beat of his own soul slowing until they're in sync, and he can feel everything twofold. The best way he could ever describe the feeling is something like radio feedback, when Frisk did an experiment with sound waves, and the two speakers picked up and transmitted each other's sounds until it was a mess of static. Along his soul he can feel Grillby's own, and through it he can in a way sense Grillby's thoughts, feelings, and emotions—and Grillby can sense the same of Sans, and they react to each other's, and then each other's reaction, and then each other's reaction to their reaction, until it's just a haze of joy, pleasure, love, trust, pain, sadness...everything. Everything in Grillby's soul belongs to Sans in this moment, and everything in Sans' belongs to Grillby.

It's not like human sex at all, in that, for monsters, it is _always_ more than physical. More than anything, it's a connection, a way of telling your partner _I trust you with everything that I am_. Sans has long since stopped keeping secrets from Grillby, and even though it was hard to trust someone, to look to the future with hope, he's made it this far. Every day he wakes up is a new one, and every day he _still wakes up_. He loves and trusts Grillby so much that, when he can, he wants to give Grillby this piece of himself.

It's worth it. Every time.

The feedback loop starts to weaken as Sans' energy starts to drain, and he starts pulling his soul away, letting it settle back into itself. He's disoriented, a little, not quite sure whose thoughts are in his head right now, but Grillby pulls back from where his mouth was latched onto Sans' scapula with a big, sleepy smile on his face and Sans feels the pieces of himself click back into place. Grillby continues laying against him, a hot pressure on him, and Sans wraps his arms around his husband's waist, which is coming back down to its normal restrained size. His lids are already closed, exhaustion hitting him immediately.

“love you, grillbz.”

Grillby mouths at his mandible, and then upwards until he lands a kiss on Sans' cheekbone. “I love you, too. Until the end.”

“sucker.”

“For the rest of my life.”

Sans can live with that.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me on tumblr by the same name!


End file.
